


(Unless you) Breathe

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [18]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Gore, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Grooming, Mentions of Murder, Other, Violence, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "I'm so sick of the fight/I won't breathe unless you breathe/won't bleed unless you bleed."Johnny 3 Tears, Circles (2008 version)A lot of pricks in this one.





	(Unless you) Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> **This snuff film stars:**  
>  Johnny 3 Tears, AKA the strapped man  
> Danny, AKA the new man  
> Victim; anyone you want it to be. Only requirements are that they have both arms and legs, and are less of a heavy smoker than Johnny. Beyond that they can be anyone you hate. Call it catharsis. Gender doesn't matter, Victim is referred to as 'it'.  
> Deuce, AKA Aron (on the phone)  
> J-Dog, AKA Jorel (mentioned only)
> 
> This fic does call reference to a previous Victimised fic, 'Right now'. All you need to know is that Deuce and J-Dog were groomed into gang crime as teenagers, and Johnny called Deuce to ask if Deuce killed people. 
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think the guys have done, or have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.

The man opposite Victim was tense, straps taught against his skin. He stared at Victim, face tearstained behind the mask over his jaw. A thick plastic tube, blue and translucent, ran from the front of the mask, hissing as the man breathed. The mask covered his nose and mouth, and tucked under his jaw. The other end of the tube hung past his knees.

Victim stared back up at him. It was sat at his feet, wrists and ankles taped together, another piece of tape over its mouth.

Victim wriggled and pulled on the tape. The tape held fast, Victim’s sleeves and socks shoved out of the way to press the tape against its skin. The glue pulled as Victim struggled. Victim flailed out, and kicked the man on the shin.

The man snarled and pulled on his straps. The straps held as tight as tape. The man didn’t seem able to move more than half an inch, limbs fastened to the arms and legs of the metal chair. Another pair of straps crossed over his chest.

Victim shrank away from him, flopped on its side like a startled possum. The chair was bolted to the floor from the bottom, keeping the man firm in position.

The door swung open. Another man sauntered in, whistling a tune. He had two drinks, one in a cardboard cup, the other in clear plastic and full of ice.

“Sorry I’m late, guys,” he said, and closed the door behind him, “The queues were crazy this morning!”

The strapped man snarled at him and pulled on his straps again.

“Yes, good afternoon to you too,” the new man said. He put the drinks down a few paces away from the captives. He dragged a coffee table across from the other side of the warehouse, which was set up rather like an open apartment complete with a kitchenette.

Victim tried to shuffle away as the new man pulled the coffee table almost on top of it. It pressed back into the strapped man’s legs. He snarled and kicked at it, only succeeding in rattling the straps holding him back. The new man scooped Victim up, set it down, and kissed it on the crown.

On almost the same level as the strapped man, he only became more terrifying. He was broad, chest straps buckled on their widest hole and still taught. Two more sets of straps pinned his upper arms and thighs, and squeezed. The hiss of his breathing sounded more like a growl.

The new man picked up his drinks and circled back to his captives. He took a slurp of his ice drink. “Ah! So! I’m Danny, and we’re gonna play a little game today!”

The strapped man snarled at him.

“Well!” Danny tutted, “I’d normally let you have a minute to chat and beg, but if **that’s** how you’re going to talk to me!”

Danny put his drinks down behind Victim and stormed off. He grabbed something parked against the wall and dragged the device over. He stopped between Victim and the strapped man.

The device consisted of two oxygen tanks zip-tied together to a bent metal frame, and zip-tied down to a skateboard. Danny took the strapped man’s tube and attached it to the nozzle of one of the tanks. He picked up a second mask, this one with a red tube.

“The game’s quite simple,” Danny said, “You have the same amount of oxygen. Whoever’s oxygen lasts the longest doesn’t suffocate.”

Danny ripped the tape off of Victim’s mouth. Victim sucked in air and started to scream. Danny pressed the mask over its face and fastened the buckled behind Victim’s head. Victim gagged, the tube extending into its mouth and poking at the back of its throat. Danny tightened the mask until it felt like it was crushing Victim’s jaw.

“Now, obviously, I ain’t gonna let you suffocate to **death** ,” Danny said as he tested Victim’s strap, “This ain’t life or death. Think of it more like an exercise in self-control.”

Victim took a deep breath. Air sucked in through a small hole next to the tube.

Danny took Victim’s tube and attached it to the nozzle of the second oxygen tank. He picked up a roll of clear cello-tape and bit two small chunks off.

“Okay, deep breaths guys,” he said, “And hold ‘em.”

Victim took a slow, deep breath. Danny secured a piece of tape over the strapped man’s mask, then the other over Victim’s, plugging the small hole. He took hold of a pair of small, thin levers next to the tank’s nozzles, and flicked them.

The tanks hissed. Victim’s lungs burned and it breathed out slow. It breathed again, and the air from the tank tasted cold.

The strapped man stared at Victim. From where Victim was sat, it couldn’t see the gauge on its own tank, but it could see the needle on the strapped man’s gauge shudder as he breathed slow and exaggerated.

Danny slurped on his ice drink.

The strapped man twitched and heaved. He choked, arms strained on the straps as he tried to clutch his throat. His head dropped and he spluttered coughs, shaking and struggling. The needle of his gauge dropped to 90%.

Danny put his drink down. He stood over the strapped man, raised the man’s head and smacked him in the chest.

“Easy, easy,” Danny said, “Lemme guess; heavy smoker?”

The strapped man whined and choked again.

Victim stared at the tanks, then at Danny, then at the tanks again. Danny had his back to Victim, and was forcing the strapped man to look up at him as he cooed to the man, encouraging him to breathe.

The strapped man took a deep breath. By now his needle shivered just above 80%.

Victim pinched the tube of the strapped man’s tank and pulled the tube off the nozzle. Victim moved quick, and pulled the end of the tube over the end of the thin lever. The tank hissed, and the needle shivered.

The strapped man breathed out, and Danny showered him with praise. The man went to breathe in again. His expression dipped into a heavy frown.

“What?” Danny said.

The strapped man mumbled something, and Danny had to lean in close to hear him.

Danny ran his fingers down the tube. A thin trail followed his fingers as he wiped the blue sheen off the surface of the tube.

Victim glanced down. A watery blue ink clung to its fingertips. It curled its hand into a tight fist.

“Did I put it like this,” Danny said. He gestured to the nozzle and lever.

The strapped man shook his head.

Danny peered close to the nozzle. “So it’s been moved?”

Both men’s gazes flicked up to Victim. Victim’s breathing quickened, hissing up the tube.

The strapped man grunted and nodded to Danny. Danny ignored him to step around the tanks and get himself up close to Victim’s face, smiling.

“Did you move the tube?” he asked quietly.

Victim shook its head.

“Show me your hands.”

Victim curled its hands tighter, until its fingernails dug into its palms.

Danny cupped Victim’s hands and forced his thumbs into Victim’s fists. Victim whimpered and pulled its hands away. Danny’s fingers, reaching after it, were stained red and blue.

“Show me yourself, or I’ll cut them off,” Danny smiled as he spoke, like he was offering Victim a choice in ice-cream toppings.

Victim pulled away, fell, and rolled off the table. The tube popped off of its mask. It kicked out and pushed itself away.

Danny followed, cooing at Victim like it was a shy puppy. He caught up and caught Victim by the legs. He pinned Victim under his knee and caught its hands in his. He ripped the clasped paws apart to reveal a smear of blue, now spread thin over both palms.

Danny tutted. “That wasn’t very kind, was it?”

“And you said I was making it too fucking easy,” a second, gruffer voice said.

The strapped man unclasped the straps crossed over his chest and let them drop. He pulled on a buckle on his thigh.

Victim panted. The hole the tube had fallen from wheezed. Victim blinked dumb at the strapped man as he bent down to unfasten his shins.

Danny hooked a hand around his wrist tape. He got up and dragged Victim after him, back to the coffee table. He dropped Victim at the man’s feet, picked the drinks up, and passed the cardboard cup to the man. The man took a sip and sighed.

“I got ‘em to make it double strength for you,” Danny said.

“It’s good,” the man said.

Victim kicked away again. The man stretched his leg out and rested it on Victim’s thigh. He gave Victim a curt nod, like a strict headmaster keeping a troublemaker in check.

Danny sat on the coffee table, ice drink in hand. “The jig’s up, I guess.  This is Johnny,” he gestured to the man, “He’s a friend of mine. He convinced me not to put needles in your ribs.”

Victim squawked.

“Not the weirdest conversation we’ve had,” Johnny said, “But up there.”

“You regretting talking me out of it?” Danny said.

“Nope.”

“Liar.”

Johnny grunted and sipped at his drink. He nudged at the oxygen tanks with his foot. The skateboard jolted as it was forced to swing to the side. The backs of the tanks were cut open, jagged holes to nothing.  Johnny reached into his tank and fiddled with something in the top.

Victim stared at the tanks. It reached for them and fingered the edge of the hole. The cut was jagged, uneven and starting to rust.

“It’s all fake,” Danny said, “The masks have got holes in ‘em. The little meter-thingy you could see was connected to battery. It was programmed to go down, it don’t measure anything. Johnny here **does** have breathing problems, that bit was true.”

“But the rest was bullshit,” Johnny interrupted, “The easiest fucking bullshit in the world. You were gonna win. There wasn’t even consequences if you somehow didn’t. And **yet** you tried to sabotage me anyways.”

Victim stared into its tank, hand pressed into the bottom of the hole.

“I told you, man,” Danny said, “Self-preservation’s one hell of a drug.”

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Johnny said. He stood and pulled Victim up after him.

Johnny sat Victim down in his chair. He pulled its hands over its head and down, and hooked the wrist tape to the back of the chair. Victim’s arms framed its head, elbows pointed to the rafters, as Johnny secured its wrists.

Danny got up and circled the room, humming a tune. He rifled through drawers and gathered a small collection in his arms.

Johnny sat on the floor and secured one of Victim’s thighs to the chair. The tape around Victim’s ankles tightened as Johnny forced its legs apart to pull the strap between them.

Danny dropped the items on the coffee table with a clatter. Johnny picked at Victim’s ankle tape. Danny passed him a knife and Johnny sliced through the tape.

Victim kicked out at Johnny. Johnny seized the freed limb and strapped it down, gripping it hard. Victim struggled, kicking and whimpering. Johnny tightened the strap until it was biting into Victim’s skin.

Danny’s drink gurgled as he slurped up the last of it, ice inside half-melted and misshapen. He sat on the coffee table and chewed on the paper straw.

Johnny tugged on Victim’s hands, then on its feet, ensuring it was strapped in firm. He took the knife, tucked the blade under the hem of Victim’s shirt, and tore it open up the middle.

Danny shook a box at Johnny. “Can’t stop me now.”

Johnny grunted and stood. Victim wriggled, straps tight on its ankles, above and below its knees, and across its thighs. The chest straps had been unhooked and re-secured, wrapping under Victim’s armpits and over its shoulders, pinning it back on the chair. Cramps were setting into its arms.

“Aw, how’d you know?” Danny cooed.

Johnny just grunted again and stood.

Danny shoved the tanks out his way and tugged the coffee table a couple of inches closer to Victim. He sat on his legs, giggling like an excited child. Johnny flicked a couple of items out of the way and sat behind Danny, kicking a leg over the table to straddle it.

Danny pulled Victim’s shirt open. The cold embraced Victim’s skin. Danny tucked the box between Victim’s strapped legs and popped the lid open.

Something trailed along the underside of Victim’s ribs with a sharp scratch. Victim sucked in as much as it could, trying to press its chest as far away from the object as it could.

The scratching stopped on Victim’s side. It seemed to hover there as Danny held Victim’s cut shirt out of the way.

A sharp prick. Victim gasped. The box between its legs rattled.

Danny traced Victim’s chest again, a couple of inches higher, under the next rib. A sharp prick on Victim’s side, and Danny rattled the box again.

Johnny leant against Danny, spooning him, as he watched Danny work. He almost looked like he was falling asleep on Danny’s shoulder.

Victim hissed at the pricks as they climbed up its ribs like a ladder. They scaled each of Victim’s sides and began to spread inwards.

As the pricks reached under Victim’s exposed nipples, the new pricks seemed to ripple through the pricks around it. Every breath seemed to pool in its ribs, stinging and itching deep. Warm liquid dripped thick down its stomach.

A phone rang a generic ringtone. Danny startled and dropped his little object into Victim’s lap.

Johnny wriggled and pulled a cheap phone from his pocket. “Yeah, hello?”

Danny tutted and patted at Victim’s lap.

“How did you get this number?”

Danny froze.

“I don’t like you having this number. No, it ain’t my number, I ain’t fucking stupid.”

“Who is it?” Danny whispered.

Johnny flapped a hand to quiet him. “What do you want?”

Danny leant close to the phone, cuddling back into Johnny, to listen. He frowned deep, and it didn’t fit his face.

“Why’d you wanna know?” Johnny took a deep breath. “Fine… yes… yes… we done? Good, bye, asshole.”

Johnny hung up. He launched the phone away from him, and it slammed into the wall and smashed.

Danny shrank away from Johnny. He had to lean on Victim’s legs to put space between the men. “Why would you tell him?”

“Because he still kills too,” Johnny said.

“How do you know?”

“I called him and asked. Like he just did to me.”

“The fuck would you do that for?”

Johnny shrugged. “Same reason I asked you. I got curious.”

“But why would you ask **him**?”

“See if he answered different to Jorel.”

Danny stared at him.

“He didn’t.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nah. There’s a lot of gory freak accidents around Sacramento these days.”

Danny groaned in disgust. Victim whimpered, and Danny looked up at it. He scanned its ribs, and sighed.

“That’s put me off, man,” Danny said, “I think I’m done here.”

Johnny nodded. He rose, took up the roll of duct tape and circled around behind Victim.

“Deep breath,” Johnny said.

Victim sucked air in, and its skin burned.

Johnny pulled on the tape and stuck it to the back of Victim’s fingers. He wrapped it around, bending Victim’s fingers at awkward angles. He layered it up, Victim’s fingers twisted together, its palms clasped.

“Keep breathing,” Johnny said, “In… out… Just focus on that. Trust me; just focus on that.”

The back of the chair clunked. Victim’s trussed arms tightened and released.

Pain burned under Victim’s arms. Pins sat in its skin, thin, uniform lines under each rib, seeming to burrow deeper as Victim moved.

Johnny knelt next to Victim, unwrapping the straps on its thighs. “In… out…” he drawled.

Victim sobbed, ignoring him.

“The more you breathe, the more your chest moves, the more its gonna hurt. Calm down. In… Out... In… Out…”

Victim sniffled. It tried to breathe with Johnny’s words, but had to breathe far too deep, raise its ribs too high to avoid the pain. Tears dripped down its face.

Johnny pulled it to its feet. It shuddered in his grip as he lead it away from the chair and towards the back wall. Danny remained on the table, still frowning.

Johnny lead Victim to the back wall, where deep red stained the concrete. A chain was looped to a thick pipe, and Johnny took the free end and secured it around Victim’s neck.

Victim sobbed at him again. It sucked in, and the pain burned like it was new. Victim’s legs gave out, its vision blurred, and the floor seemed to open to swallow it whole.

Arms wrapped around it, and guided it down. Johnny leant Victim’s head against his front, hugging Victim gently. His chest rose and fell slowly against Victim’s cheek.

**Author's Note:**

> The man on the phone, as mentioned in the opening notes, was Deuce. The full converstaion was (BD=Deuce, J3T=Johnny, DM=Danny)  
> J3T: Yeah, hello?  
> BD: It's Aron.  
> J3T: How did you get this number?  
> BD: Asked the right people.   
> J3T: I don't like you having this number.  
> BD: Maybe don't give people your real number.  
> J3T: No, it ain't my real number, I ain't fucking stupid.  
> (DM: Who is it?)  
> J3T: What do you want?  
> BD: I wanted to know if Jorel's trying to recruit you, Big T style.  
> J3T: Why you wanna know?  
> BD: Just asking. Got shit on my mind, I guess. You gonna answer me?  
> J3T: Fine.  
> BD: Is Jorel still killing?  
> J3T: Yes.  
> BD: Are y'all helping him?  
> J3T: Yes.  
> BD: Huh. Interesting.  
> J3T: We done?  
> BD: Yeah.  
> J3T: Bye, asshole.  
> BD: Bye.
> 
> Big T was the gang leader who groomed Deuce and J-Dog.
> 
> I wanted to base the torture more off of the 'breathing room' (or the 'oxygen crusher') from Saw VI, but 1. I would have a lot of trouble describing the machine in a way that would make sense without being an information dump, and 2. I feel like it would be very difficult to construct and I don't think the guys (Johnny in particular) would exert that much energy building something to kill people with. I know this is fictional, and suspension of disbelief is a thing, but I suspend disbelief high enough already, I'm trying to bring it back down.  
> To explain a few things about Johnny instructing Victim to breathe and the “Self-preservation’s one hell of a drug.”/“You don’t gotta tell me,” altercation: Matty held Johnny prisoner for four months a few years back, and tortured him. Johnny got his own back later, which has a fic: 'A way of life'. Yes, I'm shameless.
> 
> Next time you get the opportunity, take a walk somewhere you haven't been much, even if it's just a couple of streets in a different direction that you usually walk. If that's not possible for any reason, at least try to sit by a cracked window for a little while. Fresh air is good for you.


End file.
